


Between Dusk and Dawn

by impalagirl, wilddragonflying



Series: Roleplays [31]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Vampires, Hunters, Kidnapping, M/M, vampire!Stiles - Freeform, vampire!derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 23:55:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4499721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalagirl/pseuds/impalagirl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He's in the middle of a crowded bar when he smells it. For the first time in fifty years, Stiles Stilinski's mouth begins to water, and he's suddenly on high alert, twisting in his seat to scan the room with sharp eyes. Of course, it doesn't take long to spot him. He's as gorgeous as ever, tall and broad with dark hair and light eyes. He's wearing glasses this time, and damn, he looks good with a beard. Stiles had almost forgotten that; it's been so long since he's seen him with more than yesterday's stubble.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Dusk and Dawn

He's in the middle of a crowded bar when he smells it. For the first time in fifty years, Stiles Stilinski's mouth begins to water, and he's suddenly on high alert, twisting in his seat to scan the room with sharp eyes. Of course, it doesn't take long to spot him. He's as gorgeous as ever, tall and broad with dark hair and light eyes. He's wearing glasses this time, and _damn_ , he looks good with a beard. Stiles had almost forgotten that; it's been so long since he's seen him with more than yesterday's stubble. Is he into guys this time, Stiles wonders? He hasn't always been, and those times are the worst, when Stiles has to stand back and watch him flirt with girl after girl, without sparing him so much as a second glance. But no - Stiles can see that he's checking out both guys _and_ girls from his position at the bar, and for the first time in a long time, Stiles feels himself begin to hope.

But enough of that. There are things that need to be done first, things that need to be ascertained before there's any place for hope. Stiles stands up without bothering to apologise to the young woman he's been working on all night, and makes sure to disappear from her sight before approaching his new target. She won't be able to remember what he looks like by the time he reaches the bar, and he slides into the seat beside the new guy as smooth as a knife slides into butter. "I've not seen you around before," he says casually. "New in town?"

Derek jumps slightly at the sudden voice in his ear, but when he catches sight of its owner, he relaxes. Smirking, he replies, "Just moved in a week ago; been busy unpacking boxes. Figured I earned myself a night off."

"Definitely," Stiles agrees. "What are you drinking?"

Derek lifts his diet coke. "I'm the DD so no alcohol for me tonight," he explains. 

"That sucks," Stiles says. "You're not here alone, then?"

Derek gestures to the dance floor. "My sisters."

" _Fun_ ," Stiles drawls, smirking. "How did you get roped into that one?"

"Laura already lived down here, Cora wanted to go to college here, and I didn't fancy staying in New York by myself," Derek answers, turning to face the newcomer. "I'm Derek, by the way."

"Stiles," Stiles returns, taking a moment to roll that name around on the tip of his tongue. _Derek_. It suits him. "But, I meant the whole DD thing, not the living here thing. Seems like you've got the sour end of the deal."

Derek chuckles. "I've never developed a taste for alcohol," he answers, and it's not a lie.

Stiles nods. "Fair enough. You can have just as much fun sober, of course."

Derek outright laughs at that. "Not if Laura's to be believed."

"Well, why don't we prove her wrong?" Stiles asks. "Dance with me."

Derek considers the suggestion for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, sounds like fun."

"That's my middle name," Stiles smirks. He takes Derek's hand and pulls him out of his seat before leading him straight into the middle of the dance floor.

They dance until they can't anymore, and then they stumble, laughing, into the street. It's cold out and the music from inside pours through the open door, but it's dark and it's private and Stiles can't keep his mouth off of Derek's. They'd started to kiss while they were dancing, Derek initiating much to Stiles' delight, and now they're just on the right side of desperate, eager to be alone for the short while they can snatch for themselves before Derek's sisters need to be taken home. Stiles doesn't mind; this won't take long.

"It's a bit seedy," he pants when Derek pulls away, only to kiss at his neck, "screwing in an alley down the side of a bar, but I hear it's what a lot of drunk people do. And we are trying to prove a point, after all."

Derek can't help but chuckle and correct, "We're not drunk. Which means no more than a handjob, okay?"

"That's what I'm saying," Stiles tells him. "We're trying to prove that sober people can have as much fun as drunk people. But a handjob sounds great." He takes Derek's hand and leads him further down the alley in question, only to push him against the wall of the bar and kiss him when they make it far enough that they won't be seen from the street.

Derek's all for this-- it won't be the first time he's hooked up with someone outside of a bar, but god _damn_ he doesn't think he's ever felt this attracted to someone before-- and he lets Stiles lead for a few moments before pushing off the wall and flipping them so that he's the one crowding into Stiles's space, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down his jaw and neck, sucking lightly at the join of neck and shoulder and he slides a hand down Stiles's body, teasing the skin just above his belt.

Stiles moans and gets a hand in Derek's hair, dragging his head back up so that he can kiss him hard before making his own journey down the side of Derek's neck. The smell of him is heady, and Stiles can feel the blood pulsing beneath his lips; when Derek slips his hand into Stiles' pants, fingertips barely brushing his cock, Stiles bites him.

Derek has a brief flash of _Did he--_ before he's forgetting everything for the moment except for Stiles's mouth on his skin and his hand on Stiles's cock. 

Stiles notices it instantly. He's tasted the wrong blood before, even from the same source, but he's never tasted anything this _foul_. He yanks back after only a few seconds, revolted, and bats Derek's hand away from his cock. "What the fuck?" he spits, wiping his hand over his mouth. "What's _wrong_ with you?"

It takes Derek a moment to get with the program. "What the hell are you-- _Did you just fucking bite me?_ "

"Yes I just fucking bit you, and you tasted _awful_ ," Stiles complains.

"Blood isn't supposed to be delicious, and why the hell would you bite hard enough to draw blood in the first place?" Derek demands, backing away another step. He's not sure what's going on, and he's rapidly becoming convinced that he doesn't want to know.

Stiles rolls his eyes. " _Hello_ , I'm a vampire? But that's not what's important here. Are you _sick_?"

" _Vampire?_ " Derek demands, backing away a few more steps. "Okay I don't know what the hell your problem is, man, but this is way too weird for my tastes. Follow me, and I will kick your ass into next week, capice?" With that, Derek takes off down the alley, back to the club and reality without looking back, one hand clasped to the (suspiciously no-longer-bleeding) wound in the side of his neck. 

Stiles could kick himself, but he knows that all is far from lost. He bit Derek, got his saliva all up in his bloodstream, so Derek won't actually be able to remember the encounter - which gives Stiles a second chance. He blends into the shadows when Derek leaves the bar again, this time with his sisters in tow, and makes sure he isn't seen when he follows them home. The sisters aren't new, but Stiles hasn't seen them for a very long time. It's another reason for Stiles to hope, but he still doesn't allow himself to dare. Despite all of the signs, there's something very wrong, and he needs to find out what.

He waits another week before showing his face again, this time smack in the middle of the route Derek takes for his morning run. As a vampire, physical exertion is no big deal for Stiles, but he makes a show of doubling over and gasping for breath just as Derek rounds the corner at the end of the road, and waits for him to take the bait.

Derek clocks the other jogger a moment later, and slows his pace, hand hovering by the spare water bottle he keeps just in case. "You alright there, buddy?"

"Yeah," Stiles gasps, holding a hand out. "I just-- I need a minute. Oh, God."

Derek rolls his eyes, unclipping the water bottle and handing it over. "Bit off a bit more than you could chew there, it looks like," he comments. There's something about the other man's voice and figure that's familiar, but Derek can't quite place him.

Stiles makes a show of gulping the water down and straightens up to give Derek a grateful smile when he's done. "Thanks," he says. "It's my first time, doing the whole exercise thing. I was hoping that no one would be around to see my humiliation, what with it still being dark and all."

Derek glances at the sky, nodding in agreement-- it is still fairly dark out. Then he catches a good look at the other's face. "Hey, I know you-- you're that guy who chatted me up a week ago."

Stiles' eyes widen, and it's not even an act. Derek shouldn't be able to remember him at all, but if he does... "Shit, yeah," he laughs, recovering quickly. "I'm not stalking you, I swear."

Derek grins. "I believe you. I had fun at the club, though-- you've got one hell of a talent for kissing." Good enough to make Derek forget what happened after, until he was walking back through the door of the club.

Stiles grins. "You weren't so bad yourself," he says. "How would you feel about a repeat performance?"

Derek outright laughs at that. "We're not at a club now," he points out. "You'll have to take me out on at _least_ one date before that happens."

"This doesn't count?" Stiles asks, mock-affronted. "We're hot and sweaty and out-of-breath, you provided some form of sustenance - feels like date material for me."

Derek raises an eyebrow, smirking. "No, this wasn't planned-- ergo, not a date."

Stiles huffs, but he's grinning. "Fine," he says. "How about tonight?"

Derek hums, pretending to think about it, before he nods. "The diner?" he suggests. "Nowhere too fancy."

"Sounds good to me," Stiles answers. "Eight?"

"Eh-- Seven?" Derek suggests-- if they go out at eight, he may miss his second dose for the day.

Stiles doesn't see the need to argue, and a glance at the sky tells him that he doesn't have much time, anyway. The sun is almost up. "Seven," he agrees. "Now if it's all the same to you, I'm gonna get out of here before it gets light enough for everyone to see how red and sweaty I am."

Derek chuckles, taking the water bottle back. "I'll see you at seven," he agrees. 

* * *

Stiles arrives at the diner at seven on the dot, and isn't surprised to find Derek already there. It isn't the most classy of places, but Stiles has taken extra care with his appearance tonight, choosing smart black slacks and a blue button-down. It makes a nice change from the sweats and hoodie he'd been wearing this morning, and Derek is worth the effort. He's a lot more than a quick meal, after all.

"Hey," Stiles says easily as he sits down opposite Derek. "Sorry if I kept you waiting."

"I got here a couple of minutes ago," Derek responds, treating Stiles to a dazzling smile. "So. How'd your day go after your morning jog?"

"Morning torture session, you mean," Stiles says darkly. "It was okay. I slept a lot, I'm not even going to lie. What about yours?"

Derek pulls a face. "Laura set a new record in annoyance today. Wouldn't let up until I told her why I was ditching my computer early."

"Your computer?" Stiles asks, interested. "Are you a big gamer?"

Derek chuckles. "I'm an author," he explains. "And a gamer. But I've got a PlayStation for that."

Stiles fights the urge to drool. "That's awesome," he says, instead of something stupid like _holy shit you're an author I'm so proud of you baby_. "Have you written anything I might have heard of?"

Derek can't help but chuckle. "Unless you're into non-cisgender/heterosexual erotica, probably not," he answers. 

Stiles makes an interested noise. "Sounds like something I could get into, though," he says.

Derek chuckles. "It's all in ebooks," he says. "Amazon, mainly. A couple of other sites. I make a good enough living-- plus I get to watch porn regularly for 'research.'" This last word is said complete with air quotes. 

"I'll check you out," Stiles promises, and he means it. "But in the meantime, have you ordered yet?"

Derek shakes his head. "Just a glass of tea," he says, right as the waitress comes over.

"Oh! Is this the young man you were talking about?" she asks brightly. "I saw him come over here and brought an extra menu. Can I get you something to drink, sir?"

"Uh, just water, please," Stiles says, waggling his eyebrows at Derek. "You've been talking about me?"

Derek rolls his eyes. "I said I was expecting someone, don't go getting a bloated head."

"Ah well, I'll take what I can get," Stiles sighs.

Derek grins at Stiles. "You're a drama queen, aren't you?"

"Tiny bit," Stiles admits, grinning back. That hasn't changed at all over the centuries, and it's something that Derek will grow to love about him, he's sure of it. They give the waitress their food orders when she brings Stiles his water, and then they sit in companionable silence for a few moments while Stiles decides how to word what he wants to say next. "So," he begins at last. "That night at the bar was kind of crazy, right?"

Derek chuckles. "Yeah, it was," he agrees. "I don't usually go out and make out with random strangers in an alley."

Stiles ducks his head, as though he's shy. "I was kind of hoping you'd have forgotten that," he says. "I swear I'm not normally that easy."

Derek grins. "Neither am I," he says reassuringly. "You've got one hell of a mouth, though."

Stiles laughs. "Well, play your cards right and you might get another taste."

Derek lets his gaze linger on Stiles's mouth for a moment. "I'm counting on it."

A slow smile spreads itself across Stiles' lips, and his whole body tingles with how _right_ this is. Surely Derek can feel it, too? "You can start by telling me about yourself," he says. "I'd like to know more than your name this time."

* * *

Derek tells him all kinds of things, like what it was like growing up with both an older and a younger sister, and how he didn't have a clue what he was going to do with his life until his last year of college. What he doesn't tell him is why his blood tasted so awful that night at the club. If he has some sort of terrible disease, it would surely make sense to tell Stiles early on, right? But while Derek makes it clear that he wants this to go further than a couple of quick fumbles in semi-public places, he doesn't mention his health at all. Stiles is left wondering if whatever's wrong with Derek's blood isn't that serious, or if he just doesn't know that it is. Neither option would make much difference to Stiles, of course, but he sincerely hopes that it's the former. If Stiles is right, he needs all the time he can get with Derek.

Which is why, when they leave the diner some time later, Stiles is hopeful enough to ask for another date. "We should do this again," he says, grinning as he snags Derek's hand in his. "I had a great time."

Derek nods, squeezing Stiles's hand. "I'd like that," he confesses. "Give me your phone, and I'll give you my number."

Stiles' grin widens as he fishes his phone out of his pocket and hands it over. "It's been a while since I've done the whole dating thing," he admits. "How long is it that I'm supposed to wait before calling you?"

Derek laughs. "Been a while for me, too, so I'm not sure," he answers, quickly inputting his phone number and firing a text to himself before handing the phone back. 

"Then how about I text you?" Stiles asks. "I don't think there are any rules about that."

"Not that I'm aware of," Derek agrees. "So, text me whenever then."

"I will," Stiles promises, backing away. He can't make himself turn around, can't take his eyes off Derek for even a second, and so it comes as absolutely no surprise to anyone when he slips off the curb and goes down hard. "Ow, fuck!"

Derek rushes to Stiles's side, helping him up but wincing at the blood on his palms and forearms. "That looks bad," he says, frowning. "The diner has a first aid kit, I'm sure. Let me go get it."

"No, no," Stiles says quickly. The scrapes are already healing, and he needs to get out of here before Derek sees just how fast. "It's not as bad as it looks, I just need to get cleaned up. It doesn't even hurt."

"Are you su-- Huh." Derek grabs Stiles's wrist, inspecting his palm for a moment. "I could have sworn..."

Stiles snatches his hand back and makes a show of shaking it out. "A lot of blood, tiny cut," he says with a smile. "It happens."

Derek's not quite convinced, but accepts Stiles's explanation. "Okay," he says. "Well, try not to fall off any more curbs, okay?"

"I'll do my best," Stiles says. "I'll see you soon, okay?" As he's walking away, he pulls out his phone and shoots Derek a text. **How about tomorrow?**

* * *

Derek and Stiles start spending a _lot_ of time together-- they go on dates at least three times a week, and it gets to the point where Laura and Cora tease him relentlessly about his boyfriend-- because that's what Stiles has to be, now, his boyfriend. Derek likes the thought of that. Derek likes _Stiles_ , period. In fact, the two characters of his latest novel are starting to suspiciously resemble him and Stiles.

Derek might have a problem; he's getting in too deep, too fast. It doesn't matter if it feels like he's known Stiles forever, like they were _meant_ to meet that night at the club-- almost like, dare he say it, they are meant to be together. Derek may be an author, but after Kate, he knows better than to believe in soulmates.

The unusual closeness isn't the only thing that Derek's worried about, though. There's been more... incidents like the one outside of the diner. Stiles getting some small scrape-- and Derek knows he's not just imagining them, he _sees_ the blood-- and it disappearing too quickly to be normal. There was one time that Stiles predicted the arrival of their food-- and he was facing _away_ from the kitchen at the time, didn't even look back. But he _had_ taken a deep breath the moment before. He'd overheard things from a phone conversation Derek had had with Cora one time, things he shouldn't have been able to hear. He'd asked a question about something _Cora_ , on the other end of the phone line, had said.

It was starting to make Derek uneasy, and one night after another date-- and another incident, this time Stiles asking their waitress to bring him the paycheck for a couple _on the other side of the restaurant_ who had apparently received some really bad news during their meal-- Derek finally caved. "Stiles," he begins, "I've been... thinking."

"That sounds ominous," Stiles says, grinning. "About what?"

Derek takes a deep breath. "I've... noticed some things about you," he says carefully.

"Like what?" Stiles asks. "Like how good my ass looks in these jeans? 'Cause you'd be right."

"Your ass does look good," Derek admits, but then shakes his head. "No, I mean like.. Like tonight. How could you have heard what happened to that couple? You never went near their table."

Stiles raises his eyebrows. "I shouldn't be surprised," he mutters, almost to himself. "I haven't exactly been trying to hide it."

"Hide what?" Derek demands.

Stiles sighs. "I'm a vampire," he says.

Derek stares at Stiles. "That's what you're going with?" he asks after a long moment. "Vampire? You do realize we're not in a book, right? Or some shit movie?"

Stiles considers Derek for a moment, thinking. "Do you not remember that night at the club?" he asks, stalking forward. "What really happened?"

"I remember making out with you, getting my hand on your dick," Derek says truthfully, refusing to back down.

"So you don't remember my mouth on your neck?" Stiles asks once he's close enough to press a kiss to the same spot he'd sunk his teeth into all those weeks ago. "You don't remember me biting you? Come on, Derek. You shouldn't be able to remember that night at all."

Derek shakes his head. "I don't remember that," he insists. "I remember getting my hand on you and then... then I was walking back into the club." Come to think of it, that _was_ suspicious...

"I bit you that night, Derek," Stiles insists, drawing back to look Derek in the eye. "I drank your blood. And it tasted fucking awful, by the way, but that's not the point right now. I'm a vampire."

"Of course it tasted awful, it's _blood_ for Christ's sake," Derek snaps.

"We're not talking about that right now," Stiles snaps right back, impatient. "I tried to talk to you about that after the first time, but you were too busy running away. Look, just-- Give me your keys."

"You're trying to convince me you're some sort of mythical creature and you want me to _give you my keys_?" Derek demands, incredulous.

"I'm not going to jack your car or some bullshit, just give me your keys."

"Why?"

"So I can prove it to you," Stiles says. 

"You do realize you sound more like a serial killer by the moment, don't you?" Derek says, hesitating.

"I don't kill people, Derek!" Stiles hisses, desperate. "I'm not a _monster_. I'm just not human."

Derek hesitates for another moment before handing over his keys.

"Thank you," Stiles sighs. He tests each key on his thumb, finding the sharpest one, and then moves to stand next to Derek, his free hand outstretched before them both. "Ready?" he asks, and draws the key across his own palm, slicing into it with ease.

Derek yelps and snatches the keys away from Stiles. "What the hell are you--" He's stopped mid-sentence by the realization that Stiles's palm has already healed. "Holy shit."

"What else do you need to see?" Stiles asks. "You already know that I can hear better than any human. I'm fast too, and strong. I ripped a door off a car once, completely by accident, but I doubt you'd appreciate a demonstration."

"Please don't demonstrate on the Camaro," Derek says weakly, still staring at Stiles's palm. "You really weren't lying," he muses, almost to himself before looking up. "The blood?"

"Your blood?" Stiles asks. "Yeah. Way gross. It's part of the reason why I tracked you down again."

"So you're saying that it's different?" Derek asks, confused. "I'd think everyone's is different."

"Everyone's is different," Stiles agrees. "But it's like chicken. You can flavour it with different things and cook it in different ways, but you can still know it's going to give you food poisoning the instant you bite into it."

"So you're saying you think there's something wrong with me?" Derek clarifies.

"I think so, yeah," Stiles says. "Are you saying you don't know what it is?"

"Actually, I do," Derek answers. "Pernicious anemia. Lack of B12 vitamin in my system, resulting in abnormal red blood cells."

"You're anemic?" Stiles asks. "That makes a lot of sense. But you're taking supplements, right?"

Derek nods. "Yes. Twice a day."

"Good," Stiles says, pleased. "Anemia can be a bitch."

Derek snorts. "You don't have to tell me that." He hesitates as a thought occurs to him, then asks, "Why did you tell me? About the vampire thing? We've only know each other a few months."

Stiles shrugs. "I trust you," he says honestly. "I think this could be something, and I want to go into it being completely honest with you." _Or as honest as I dare_.

Derek smiles. "I think so, too," he confesses. "And, thank you. For trusting me."

Stiles smiles back. "So, while we're airing our darkest secrets in public, is there anything else you want to share?"

Derek chuckles. "Pretty sure that covers it," he answers.

"Awesome," Stiles says. "So, do you wanna get out of here?"

Derek raises an eyebrow. "I don't know, I was kind of enjoying the whole revelations thing."

Stiles smirks. "I wasn't suggesting we go our separate ways."

"Oh, well in that case..." Derek grabs Stiles's hand and starts towing him towards the Camaro.

* * *

Derek doesn't hear from Stiles for a day or two-- which isn't that concerning to him; he barely even notices time passing, too wrapped up in working on his pet project that may help launch him into the world of the 'real' authors. When he _did_ hear from Stiles, it was a pounding on the door and then Laura calling for Derek to "get your ass down here, nerd, your boytoy's here!"

Derek emerged, blinking, from his study, stopping at the top of the stairs. "Stiles?" he asked, a bit confused. "Is something wrong?" Something sure seems wrong, if the look on the-- vampire's, Christ-- face is anything to go by.

"I thought you said there were no other secrets, Derek!" Stiles cries, storming straight past Laura and up the stairs to get right in Derek's face. "I thought we told each other everything the other night!"

"What the hell are you on about?" Derek asks, bewildered. "I did tell you everything!"

"Yeah?" Stiles snarls. "How stupid do you think I am? I'm not in the twelfth century anymore, you know! I do know how to use the internet!"

"Yeah I noticed that first part," Derek snaps. "That doesn't explain why the fuck you showed up here and started accusing me of lying to you."

"I looked it up!" Stiles cries. "Pernicious anemia? It comes with super bad autoimmune conditions. Like Crohn's disease. Like Addison's disease. Like _HIV_!"

 _Oh._ "Sometimes, yes," Derek agrees. "Sometimes the autoimmune part is just the white blood cells attacking the intrinsic factor made in the stomach lining."

Stiles blinks. "Oh," he says. "So you're not dying?"

Derek smiles slightly, then shakes his head. "No. My body just... hates IF for some reason, so I have to take B12 vitamins to keep up the proper levels. I'm not going to die from my anemia."

From the bottom of the stairs, Laura sighs. "Boys are so stupid," she says, and wanders off into another room.

Stiles has to agree with her. He turns back to Derek with a sheepish smile. "Sorry," he says. "I kind of panicked."

Derek chuckles. "It's fine," he promises. "I should have mentioned that I have the less-worrying type."

Stiles doesn't argue with him. "So that was your sister?" he asks instead.

"One of them," Derek answers. "Cora's... At campus, I think."

Stiles smiles. "She seems nice."

Derek snorts. "Right. You haven't spent any more time with her than what, a minute?"

"I'm a great judge of character," Stiles says confidently. 

Derek rolls his eyes. "Come on, you want to see my study?"

"You have your own study?" Stiles asks, excited. "Hell yes!"

Derek laughs and leads the way down the hall. "I need a place to write, and Laura and Cora make too much noise in the rest of the house; I had some soundproofing installed. The only noise I can stand is classical music, or maybe a movie running in the background while I write."

"This is really cool," Stiles says, looking around. "What are you working on right now?"

Derek hesitates, but grabs the notebook from next to the laptop. "It's my pet project," he says. "Which means it's not queer smut. Or at least, that's not all it is."

Stiles finds himself a seat and gets comfortable, his chin in his hand as he smiles at Derek. "Tell me everything. Or as much as you can."

Derek offers Stiles a smile. "Well, it's a... fantasy novel. About a young woman who finds herself in the company of fantastical creatures, and comes to learn about the supernatural, and finds out about a threat to them-- a disease tailored specifically to the supernatural; it targets a certain gene that they all had. Any humans infected didn't get symptoms, but rather they became carriers, able to infect the other supernatural. Basically the novel is her--a supernatural herself, a shapeshifter-- hunting down those responsible and trying to find a cure."

Stiles nods, interested. "That's really cool," he says. "And very relevant, given the current market. Publishers will be biting your hand off."

Derek chuckles. "I hope so. It's not finished yet-- I'm missing a few scenes, and I can't quite get the reveal of the Big Bad right, but... I've been kicking this idea around for a while. It's my baby, in a way."

"Well, it sounds awesome," Stiles says, grinning. "I have every confidence that your baby will grow up to make you very proud."

Derek chuckles, smiling. "Thanks for the confidence."

"So," Stiles says carefully. "You have an interest in the supernatural?"

Derek nods, jotting down a few notes in the notebook. "Always have," he elaborates. "Mythology, legends, horror stories, you name it."

"But you had no idea that it actually existed?" Stiles asks, smirking.

Derek laughs at that. "I mean, it made sense in a way; it was definitely possible, considering we are still discovering new species in the oceans and other remote areas."

"Well, if you ever have any questions, I'm your guy," Stiles offers. "The general public would be none the wiser, but you have no idea how hungry the supernatural community is for literature about them that's accurate. Vampires do not sparkle in the sunlight."

Derek snickers. "No, I never thought they did," he laughs.

"We do burn very quickly, however," Stiles adds. "We don't suddenly burst into flames like they do on _Buffy_ , but we go very red and ouchy."

Derek thinks about that for a moment. "Makes sense," he allows. "Would make it difficult for you to blend in, otherwise."

Stiles nods. "But enough about me and mine," he says. "What other aspects of the supernatural are you interested in?"

Derek shrugs. "Mostly the creatures," he says. "One thing that I've been curious about, though, is mates. A lot of legends and-- I'll admit-- fanfiction claim that werewolves have mates, either chosen or destined. Is that true?"

"Umm, yes and no," Stiles says. "It's not just werewolves."

”Oh?" Derek asks curiously.

Stiles chooses his words carefully. "There are those of us that believe that soulmates are real."

"Soulmates?" Derek echoes dubiously.

"Yeah, like that one person who is totally perfect for you," Stiles says. "There are some people who even go so far as to say that we're just reincarnated over and over again, and that the same soulmates find each other every time, but uhh," he laughs, "few people are around long enough to find out for sure."

Derek mulls that over for a minute. "That seems a bit far-fetched," he says eventually. "I mean, the 'monsters' and artifacts are one thing-- those have physical proof-- but soulmates?"

"Aren't the mates you've just been talking about for werewolves the exact same thing?" Stiles asks. 

"Most of the legends say that the wolf chooses its mate," Derek answers. "It's mostly the fanfiction that says they're predestined."

"People can choose to ignore their soulmate, or not date them," Stiles says. "Some people don't even meet them. It's not about not being happy with anyone else, it's just the idea that someone out there is made to be really important in your life."

Derek snorts. "I believe in love, but I'm not really sold on the idea of soulmates," he says.

Stiles hides his disappointment well, and smiles instead. "Well, like I said, there's very little by way of supposed proof. It's just something some of us believe."

Derek nods, conceding the point. "What about that whole werewolf-vampire rivalry?"

Stiles shrugs. "Most of us are pretty cool with each other these days," he says. "If we're together for too long, though, it can turn into a pissing contest."

"So it's not like a blood feud then?" Derek asks.

"Not in the slightest," Stiles answers. "Although some of us would probably prefer to let you think that."

"Why?" Derek asks curiously. "Wouldn't that just make them seem more dangerous?"

"Some of us want that," Stiles says. "They're not all as cute and cuddly as me, y'know."

Derek snorts. "Oh of course not," he drawls. "Wait, what about that whole no-reflection thing?"

"That's real," Stiles says. "Most people don't notice it, though."

"Seriously? How do people not notice?"

"You'd be surprised how much people see just because they expect to," Stiles says with a smile. "Or how much they don't see because they don't for a second imagine that it's possible. Besides, vampires especially have a certain... effect on people."

Derek tilts his head. "Effect?"

”Do you remember what happened that night at the club yet?" Stiles asks. "After we went outside, I mean. Do you remember how I bit you, fed off you?"

Derek frowns, thinking, then shakes his head. "Though that would explain how you knew what my blood tastes like," he muses. "Wait, I'm not gonna turn from that, am I? I mean, nothing against vampires, but I just found out they actually exist. I don't know if I'd even _want_ to be one."

Stiles laughs. "You won't," he promises. "That's a whole other deal. All we can do to you just from feeding off you is make you forget all about it. But it's also difficult to remember specifics about any encounter with us."

"So... I shouldn't have remembered you at all?" Derek guesses.

Stiles nods. "Prolonged exposure is different," he says. "The more times you meet the same vamp, the easier it is to remember him. But yes, I was more than a little surprised when you knew who I was that morning. Especially considering how long I left it before running into you again."

"So that's unusual, then?" Derek asks.

"Well, it's never happened to me before," Stiles lies.

"Huh. Wonder why that would be," Derek muses out loud before shrugging and starting to interrogate Stiles about other supernatural creatures.

* * *

Derek and Stiles meet up a few days later; they aren't doing anything major, just running some errands together and then possibly going to see a movie, but Stiles shows up with a packet of papers, which Derek eyes warily. "What is that?"

"Recipes," Stiles says cheerfully, thrusting the envelope into Derek's hands. "I looked it up, and all of these recipes are healthy and delicious, _and_ heavy on the B12 content. You need to take better care of yourself."

Derek glances from the envelope to Stiles's face. "Thank you," he says first, because he does appreciate Stiles's concern, "but you realize I've been dealing with this for most of my life?"

"Clearly not very well if your blood tastes that bad," Stiles says, arching an eyebrow.

Derek rolls his eyes. "I highly doubt _anything_ will make my blood taste better," he counters. "It's not something that can be healed."

"But it can be managed better than you are currently managing it," Stiles insists. "And you can start by eating properly."

Derek sighs. "You're not going to give up, are you?"

"Absolutely not," Stiles says.

Derek sighs again, but he can't help getting a warm feeling at the thought that Stiles cares so much about him and his health. "I'll look at these," he promises.

Stiles beams. "Good."

* * *

Derek _does_ look through the recipes, but honestly they're nothing he hasn't seen before. A few look like they might be good, but mostly he just... doesn't use them; he's been dealing with this since he was a kid, he knows what he's doing. He appreciates the gesture, the reaffirmation that for some reason (and Derek is trying really hard not to think of the supernatural one) Stiles wants him to be healthier.

Still, the envelope and its contents sit on the kitchen counter, rifled through and unused, for the better part of a month before Stiles puts his foot down; he shows up one night with all of the ingredients for one of the recipes he'd given Derek. "Are you... going to cook for me?" he asks, confused.

"You're damn right I am," Stiles says, barging into Derek's kitchen and setting his bags on the counter. "I brought enough to feed a small army, so your sisters are welcome to join us or you can just live off leftovers for a week, either way."

Derek watches apprehensively as Stiles spreads out what he's brought. "Cora's with her friends, Laura is out on a date," he answers finally. "So I guess it's leftovers. I didn't know you could cook."

"I'm a handful of centuries old," Stiles says lightly. "I can do a lot of things."

"Yeah that was a stupid question," Derek concedes.

Stiles hums his agreement. "I'm assuming you have a roasting dish," he says as he rummages through the bags. "That's the only thing I didn't bring."

"Um. It might be in the second cabinet to the left from the sink? Cora cooks more than I do, so I'm not sure," Derek says apologetically.

Stiles looks, and after a bit of rummaging the dish emerges. "If you don't cook, then why don't you give Cora my recipes?"

Derek gestures to where the envelope is sitting on the counter. "We've all looked through them, and they look really good, but we've all been busy with stuff this month."

"Bullshit," Stiles says. "You need to take better care of yourself."

"I've survived this long," Derek points out, but it's without heat; honestly he's more than a little pleased that Stiles seems to care so much about his health. 

"Well, you could stand to do it better," Stiles insists. "You could also stand to peel those carrots. You like rosemary, right?" He's already set the oven to preheat, and now he's washing some potatoes in the sink.

"It's okay," Derek says, fetching the vegetable peeler and getting to work. "You want all of these peeled?"

"Just go until you get bored, I guess," Stiles says, grinning. "That's pretty much my life's philosophy."

Derek rolls his eyes fondly. "How much does the recipe call for?" he clarifies.

Stiles points to the envelope. "Why don't you actually look at the recipe and find out?"

* * *

Cooking with Stiles is fun, Derek finds. Stiles is bossy in the kitchen-- but that's no real surprise. They keep up an easy banter the whole time they're preparing the dish, and when it's in the oven they go to the living room and settle down on the couch to watch an episode of TruTV's Top Funniest while they wait for it to cook. Derek loves having Stiles in his arms; he's always been a tactile person, and it shows in how he can't keep his hands still, constantly stroking a thumb or hand over Stiles's skin.

Stiles is definitely enjoying the attention. After so long of being without him, it's a relief just to see Derek smiling in his direction; the fact that Derek is willing to show him so much affection is a bonus Stiles hasn't let himself hope for in a long time. Still, all good things must come to an end, and Stiles is just dropping off in Derek's arms when the oven begins to beep. He sighs and pulls away. "I hope you're hungry."

Derek's torn for a moment between letting the food burn so that they can stay where they are and eating, but his stomach makes the decision for him,growling loudly. "Starving," he says with a chuckle as he gets up to follow Stiles into the kitchen. "How's it look?"

"Pretty good to me," Stiles answers, pulling the dish out of the oven. "Plates?"

Derek fetches the plates and silverware. "Here you go," he says, handing one set over to Stiles. "So, I've never asked, but-- could you survive on normal food?"

Stiles shakes his head as he sets to dishing up. "I can eat it, but it doesn't do me much good," he says. "Still tastes okay, though."

"Better than my blood?" Derek teases, taking the plate Stiles hands him.

"Maybe not if you improve your diet," Stiles shoots back. 

Derek shakes his head. "Pretty sure that won't dramatically improve the taste of my blood," he replies, then pauses. "What the hell is my life? I'm discussing the taste of my blood with a _vampire_ for Christ's sake."

Stiles sighs as he finishes filling the second plate. "We can talk about something else if it's making you uncomfortable."

"No, it's not that," Derek says, trying to explain. "It's just... I always thought it was a _possibility_ for the supernatural to exist, but I never seriously believed it. But now, I know you. And you know a lot about the supernatural, and it's just... hard to believe sometimes. I don't regret it, or you, but sometimes I can't shake the feeling that this is all some elaborate hallucination, and I'm sitting in a hospital bed babbling about vampires."

Stiles smirks. "Well, if I'm only a figment of your imagination, at least I'm cute," he teases.

"I always did have a type," Derek agrees.

"And I'm it?" Stiles asks, curious.

Derek shrugs. "Pretty much, yeah. You're a little taller than what I usually go for, but other than that-- Holy _fuck_ this is good."

Stiles gives Derek a smug look. "I told you."

Derek nods, shoveling more food in his mouth. Once he swallows that, he says, "Yes you did. Holy shit I'll have to get Cora to cook more of these recipes if they all taste this good."

"They do," Stiles promises. "You should trust me."

Derek offers Stiles a smile. "I do."

Stiles freezes with his fork halfway to his mouth, and then ducks his head to hide his own smile.

* * *

Stiles convinces Derek to try the other recipes, and on the whole is very pleased with himself when the feedback from both Derek and his sisters is nothing but positive. He and Derek grow closer over the next few weeks, working on the supernatural content of Derek's novel together but also just hanging out, talking about anything and everything. Stiles is careful not to say too much about his own past, but he answers each of Derek's questions honestly all the same and Derek returns the favour. It's an incredible feeling, getting to know Derek again, intoxicating, and Stiles knows that he won't be able to give it up. Not again.

Which it's why he decides to open up to Derek a little more. They've spent the day together, seeing a movie and doing some shopping for Cora's upcoming birthday, and they've picked up some takeout on the way home - but Stiles is driving, and instead of taking them back to Derek's apartment, he turns the car in the direction of his own home. "I hope this is okay," he says as he pulls up outside of an older house situated beside the local cemetery. "Just figured it was time for a change of scenery."

Derek gives the cemetery a curious-- if somewhat apprehensive-- glance before he answers. "It's fine," he says. "Long as you live in that house and not some mausoleum or something."

Stiles laughs. "We were working on the cliché thing, remember?" he teases, getting out of the car. "No, we're going into the house."

"Oh good," Derek says, relieved. "It looks old-- when was it built?"

"I'm not sure," Stiles admits. "I think it used to belong to the cemetery, maybe to a minister or someone who looked after the grounds? It's old, anyway. And clichés aside, I thought it was kinda funny."

"It is," Derek allows, following Stiles up the worn path. "This looks like it's in good shape."

"It is," Stiles agrees as he slides a key into the lock. "We had to do some work on it, but nothing major." The door swings open easily and he throws a smile to Derek over his shoulder. "Come on in."

"'We'?" Derek questioned as he stepped inside. "Whoa. This is amazing."

Stiles smiles, pleased, as he closes the door. "It's nothing," he says modestly. "It's definitely not very modern." That's true. The house has all of its original features, including old and vaguely dusty beams on show and big, ornate fireplaces in almost every room. The furniture is old too, most of it dating back a few hundred years, and there are ornaments and knick-knacks older still and far more valuable in display cases.

Derek catches sight of the display cases, and he wanders over to examine them. "Oh my God, is that medieval? It's in great condition!"

Stiles winces and hurries over to see what Derek's looking at. "Yeah, I liked it when I bought it," he says lightly. "But there isn't much use for bronze daggers in the twenty-first century."

"Not really, no," Derek agrees absently as he eagerly browses the rest of the display cases. "I'm guessing most of these are heirlooms? Unless you've got a giant cache of money hidden somewhere."

"Umm, I'm definitely not uncomfortable, financially," Stiles answers slowly. "But I'm the original owner of a lot of this stuff."

Something in Stiles's tone catches Derek's attention, and he looks back at his boyfriend, head tilted as he thinks. "What's the oldest thing you're the original owner of?" he asks carefully after a moment of thought.

Stiles knows the answer immediately. "A golden bracelet that looks like a snake."

Derek glances at the display cases, but doesn't see anything like that. "How old is it?"

That Stiles does need to think about. "One thousand, nine hundred and thirty eight years?" he hedges. "No. Thirty seven."

Derek's eyes widened. "And you were the _original_ owner?"

Stiles nods. "Well, it was given to me as a gift, but yeah."

"How old are you, then?" Derek asks, deciding to just be blunt.

Again, Stiles has to think. "One thousand, nine hundred and sixty six."

"Holy shit," Derek says, blinking. "Why the hell would you stick around that long?"

Stiles gives him a soft smile. "I've had some pretty good motivation."

Derek wants to ask what that motivation might be, but the sight of a picture of Stiles and another man catches his eye. "Who's this?"

Stiles follows Derek's gaze and smiles. "Oh, that's my dad."

"Your dad?" Derek asks, glancing back at Stiles. "Is he a supernatural too?"

Stiles nods. "We were turned at the same time."

"Wow," Derek breathes. "At least you weren't alone."

"He's been a great help over the years," Stiles agrees, looking down at the bag of food he's holding suddenly. "But we can talk about all of this over dinner. I'll heat up anything that's gone cold."

Derek had completely forgotten about the food. "Right, yeah," he says. "Lead on to the kitchen."

The kitchen is big, and a better mix of modern and traditional: the floor is tiled in cool grey stone, a big brass kettle waits on a stand beside the fireplace, and the table and chairs that take up half of the room are made of a deep, rich mahogany - but the countertops filling the other half of the room are all black marble, and the appliances on and around them are sleek and black and stylish. Stiles likes the kitchen the best. "Sit at the table or the breakfast bar, wherever you want," he says as he starts lifting containers out of the bag.

Derek hooks a foot in a stool and hops onto it, watching Stiles avidly. "Want some help?" he offers. 

"Most of this is still warm," Stiles answers. "Where do you want to start?"

Derek makes an 'I don't know' noise in the back of his throat. "What've we got?"

Stiles checks a few of the containers. "Satay, dumplings, tempura, massaman curry, sweet and sour stir fry, and that looks like sweet sticky rice with mango," he answers.

"Dibs on the curry," Derek says immediately; it's one of his weaknesses. 

Stiles grins and hands it over. He's just sorting out plates and stuff when the front door opens down the hall. Moments later an older man comes ambling into the kitchen. Stiles turns to look at him and lights up. "Hey Dad."

Sheriff Stilinski is staring at Derek. "You didn't tell me to expect company," he says stiffly.

"This is Derek," Stiles explains, and only then does the sheriff smile and extend a hand.

"It's good to see you, son."

"Pleasure to meet you," Derek says, taking the proffered hand and shaking it. "I apologize if I'm intruding."

"Not at all," the sheriff says, cutting his gaze to his son. "I'll get out of your hair."

"We've got plenty of food," Derek offers. "Except for me, of course. I have it on good authority that my blood is disgusting."

The sheriff laughs at that. "So I've heard. Did you guys get dumplings?"

"Of course we did," Stiles says, already holding out the container.

* * *

After Derek leaves, the sheriff helps Stiles clean up. "He seems nicer this time, at least. The last one was a bastard."

Stiles' smile is blinding. "I think he's the one this time, Dad."

The sheriff looks at Stiles sharply. "The one to turn? You've said that before, son. They all ran sooner or later."

"Derek's known about me since the beginning," Stiles argues. "He thinks it's _cool_. He's writing a book about it! Why would he pass up the opportunity to experience his wildest dreams firsthand?"

"And when he finds out about the soulmate aspect?" the sheriff pushes.

"He'll understand," Stiles insists. "I know he will."

"Will he? Vampires are one thing, Stiles-- at least that has physical proof. Soulmates are another. Does he believe in them?"

Stiles falters. "Well, no."

"It'll be harder for him to accept," the sheriff says gently. "I don't want you hurt, Stiles."

Stiles huffs. "Then I won't tell him, okay? It won't matter, he wants to be with me and that's enough."

"Stiles--"

"No," Stiles snaps. "You don't want me to get hurt, so I won't tell him."

The sheriff sighs, but his mind is working furiously. "Very well."

"I've been doing this for a long time, Dad," Stiles reminds him. "Have a little faith in me."

"I have faith in you," the sheriff answers. "It's _him_ I'm not sure about."

Stiles doesn't suppose he can argue with that.

* * *

Derek doesn't come around for another week or so, but when he does, he and Stiles arrive just as the sheriff is leaving for a night shift. "You two be safe," he says conversationally as he leaves. "Oh, Stiles, we are out of toilet paper in the downstairs bathroom." It's true, but more to the point, it will steer Derek to the upstairs bathroom later this evening, with any luck.

Stiles gives his father an odd look, but shrugs and heads further inside. "So what do you want to do?" he asks Derek after he hears the cruiser pull away from the house.

"Movie?" Derek suggests. "There's a couple of good ones on Pay Per View."

"Sure," Stiles says. "The TV's through here, or there's a smaller one in my room."

"Your room," Derek decides after a moment of thought.

Stiles smiles and leads the way.

Stiles's room is... Well, it’s easy to tell it was Stiles's. There are some more things scattered around-- things Derek desperately wants to ask about-- and mixed in with the things one would expect to see in a young adult's bedroom-- a television, laptop, a bunch of CDs, and some movie and television show posters. There’s a mahogany wardrobe and a decent sized closet, but what catches Derek's attention was the nice big bed, covered with pillows and blankets. "That looks comfortable," Derek says before testing that theory himself. "Holy shit it is. That's it, you're never getting rid of me now."

"You're saying you won't leave my bed?" Stiles asks, smirking, as he joins Derek on the mattress. "However will I recover?"

Derek pushes himself onto his elbows, raising one eyebrow. "You could just stick around," he suggests, reaching for Stiles with one hand. "I wouldn't be opposed to that."

Stiles takes the offered hand and goes willingly, kissing Derek deeply. "Are you saying what I think you are?" he breathes. 

"Dunno," Derek murmurs, kissing his way down Stiles's jaw. "What do you think I'm saying?"

Stiles gasps and moans a little. "I thought we were going to watch a movie," he snarks. 

Derek makes to move away. "If you'd rather do that..."

Stiles laughs and pulls Derek back. "I didn't say that!"

Derek grins, kissing Stiles and letting his hands inch under the hem of the other's shirt. "Well then, I guess you better keep me occupied," he teases. 

* * *

It's everything Stiles has dreamed of and more. The last one he slept with was rough and dominating and had Stiles on his back before he had time to blink, but Derek isn't like that. He bares himself so beautifully for Stiles, lets Stiles open him up with slow, loving fingers until he's panting with how much he wants it, and then wraps his arms around Stiles' shoulders and looks into his eyes as Stiles slides into him. It's the closest Stiles has ever been to the very first time, and it's perfect. They move together like poetry, like _magic_ , and when Derek comes first Stiles isn't far behind.

Later, when they've finally separated only to roll back into each other's arms and bask in the afterglow, Stiles reflects that this, the way his knees have turned to jelly and his every cell is singing, is what drinking Derek's blood should have felt like. It's been worth the wait, though - especially since he's fairly confident that Derek is experiencing something very similar. "Better than a movie?" he asks, smiling.

"Shhh," Derek mumbles, tucking his face into Stiles's shoulder. "Basking."

"My bad," Stiles whispers, grinning as he pets Derek's hair. "Bask away."

Derek does, taking full advantage of the comfortable bed and having Stiles's arms around him. "I think I love you," he mumbles sleepily.

Stiles' stomach starts doing somersaults, and he tightens his hold on Derek. "I think I love you, too."

Derek smiles, drifting off to sleep. 

* * *

When Stiles wakes up some hours later, he's alone. There's a moment of desperate panic in which he thinks that Derek's gone, that maybe they moved too fast and Derek freaked out and ran without so much as talking about it, but then he hears someone moving around in the bathroom and it's definitely not his dad. Smiling, Stiles snuggles back down beneath the covers and waits for Derek to come back to bed.

Derek's grumbling to himself as he stands in the shower, using a washcloth to scrub between his thighs and his stomach-- they really should have cleaned up before they fell asleep.

Once he's satisfied that he's clean enough for now, Derek tosses the dirty washcloth into the hamper. He goes to wash his hands, but his attention is caught by a book propped up behind the faucet. It looks like a personal journal, and part of Derek knows he shouldn't look, but he finds himself reaching for the journal anyway, settling onto the closed toilet seat as he starts paging through it.

When he finds the first picture, he snaps the book shut and storms into the bedroom. "What the hell is this?" he demands, emotions a storm inside of him so furious he can't distinguish any individual feelings. He opens the journal to the picture he'd found, of what looks like him and Stiles outside a log home-- the picture is old and faded, and Derek's no expert but this looks like it's from the late 1800s.

Stiles' mouth works silently for a long moment as he stares at the picture, but the feelings it insights in him are nothing compared to what he feels when he meets Derek's gaze; then, he wants to die. "I-- I can explain," he stammers, hastening to get out of bed. "Just, let me get dressed and we'll go downstairs and we'll talk about it, okay?

"Fine," Derek says, voice clipped-- confusion and hurt are starting to edge out over the other emotions now, and he hurriedly yanks his own clothes on before heading downstairs to wait for Stiles.

Stiles takes his time dressing, hoping that by stalling he'll be able to figure out what to say, but when he can stall no more he's still drawing a blank. His mind has been whited out by panic and fear and desperation, and he can't shake the feeling as he finally descends the stairs that he's walking to his doom. If there's anything he can say to make Derek stay, he can't think of it.

Derek is waiting for him in the kitchen, and Stiles moves to sit opposite him without saying a word. The journal rests between them, and tentatively Stiles reaches for it, slides it towards himself. There's no point in asking how Derek found it; this has his father written all over it. "What else did you see in this?" he asks instead, softly and without looking up.

"Stuff written in different languages; I couldn't read any of it, but I can see that picture clear enough," Derek answers, studying Stiles intently. "Why don't you start at the beginning."

Stiles sighs. "The beginning is the first time we met," he says. "In 75 AD."

"What are you--" Derek cuts himself off with a shake of his head. "Just... explain, please."

"Reincarnation is a thing," Stiles says. "That picture you saw is proof of that. And... so are soulmates." He swallows. "I was already a vampire when we met, and I knew instantly. Soulmates exist for humans too, obviously, but supernatural people are better at identifying them. It's physical, like a pull... a need to be around that person. I got to know you, of course, and after a while you felt it as well. That's not always the case; sometimes soulmates can be better off as friends, or as someone you only see when you really need them, but for us it was... perfect. I loved you, independent of the soulmate thing, and you loved me. You were even going to let me turn you, but you died before I got the chance."

"That wasn't me," Derek says without thinking. "That-- whoever it was, it's someone else. Don't say it like they were me." He takes a deep breath, then asks, "How did they die?"

"In Pompeii, when Mt. Vesuvius erupted. You-- _he_ shouldn't have even been in the city, but he was doing his brother a favour and he got caught in it." Tears shine in Stiles' eyes. "I lost him. But I knew I could get him back."

"So you, what? Traveled the globe trying to find him?"

"Pretty much," Stiles says. "And I did find him, over and over again. We were in China at the start of the Ming dynasty; in England for the Reformation; California for the gold rush; Germany for the First World War and Russia for the Second. And now we're here."

"Surely it wasn't the same guy over and over?" Derek asks, frowning. 

"Not always," Stiles agrees. "About a third of the time, maybe. But most of the time it was different. Different bodies, different genders, different personalities." He tries a smile. "You're not an easy man to find, Derek Hale."

"So, what, you're saying that this--" he gestures between them "-- is because you think I'm your soulmate?"

"I don't _think_ anything," Stiles insists.

"Well I do," Derek snaps. "I don't know about reincarnation, but this soulmate thing? I don't believe it. And if I did, then that would mean that whatever this is between us isn't just us, it's-- it's something that was determined by whoever the fuck runs the universe."

"That's not true," Stiles says. "Countless times I've found you, your soul, and you haven't wanted me. You've already been married or you haven't been interested in men or we just haven't been compatible. It's not about having your choices taken away from you."

"Then what is it about, Stiles?" Derek demands. "Because what I'm seeing and hearing is that this is predestined, and that I don't have any choice in falling in love with you just because I'm bisexual."

"I've already told you," Stiles insists, "falling in love with your soulmate is not guaranteed! I fell in love with you the first time, and I was in love with you when that picture--" He gestures almost viciously toward the journal. "--was taken, and I'm in love with you now. But that's because of who you are, not because the Powers That Be gave me no choice. It's the same for you."

Derek knows Stiles wouldn't lie to him-- but part of him still feels betrayed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was going to tell you," Stiles promises. "I wanted to. But I was scared."

"Of what?"

"Of you reacting like this," Stiles answers. "I was scared that you wouldn't believe me, that you wouldn't want me anymore. The last time I tried to explain this to you..." He trails off, his eyes going distant, and shudders. "It didn't end well."

Derek buries his head in his hands, taking a few deep breaths. "I'm not going to sugarcoat it," he says after a moment. "I feel like you lied to me, that we met under false pretenses and you kept me in the dark. I feel... betrayed." He takes a deep breath, then lifts his head. "I don't know... I don't hate you, and I can kind of see why you would not want to tell me, but that doesn't change the fact that you hid this from me. I just... This is huge, and I need some time. Alone."

Stiles nods and looks away. "I understand that," he says. "Just... please know that I do love you, Derek. I never meant to hurt you."

Derek can't find it in him to reply to that.

* * *

Derek doesn't see or talk to Stiles for almost a month; he spends most of that shut up in his study, burying himself in his work. Laura and Cora are worried about him, he knows, but he won't tell them what happened so they can't do anything about it. Derek knows that Stiles meant well, he really does-- but he still feels really fucking hurt, because the fact that they're soulmates? That's kinda huge, and something Derek deserves to know, especially since he's not a creature of the night. But if Derek-- his _soul_ \-- reacted so badly every other time Stiles told him, he could understand Stiles's caution.

It's almost a full month before Laura shouts up the stairs, "Der! Your boyfriend left you a letter in the box!" and hands it off to Derek when he comes downstairs; he goes back to his study to read it, stomach clenching and churning in apprehension.

_Derek,_

I know I promised to leave you alone while you work through everything, but that's why I'm writing. You said you felt like I lied to you, and although I was completely honest with you that night, I didn't tell you everything. So, here goes.

The first time I met you, your soul, you looked exactly like you do now. That's only happened a handful of times since, I told you that, but... There's a reason you remembered who I was after I bit you that night. I've spent centuries chasing you around the world, and no matter what you look like we're always compatible in one way or another, but it's never like it is when you look like you. When you look like him. Every time that happens, it's like your body knows me, or your soul, maybe. My dad says that it's because souls are changing all the time, they rearrange themselves each time they're reincarnated into something different, but for some reason your soul keeps returning to the same configuration it had that first time. Maybe, in its own way, your soul is looking for me, too.

At least, that's what I've been trying to tell myself for the last 1900 years. But I don't think that anymore. The last time you looked like this, we were so in love. The timing was all wrong, it was all kinds of illegal, but all that mattered was that we loved each other. And then I told you who I was, what I was, and you were so repulsed that you ran off to war and got yourself shot in the head. I thought the pain of losing you again would kill me.

I didn't give up, though. I kept looking, but the next time I found you, we weren't just incompatible. You hated me. That hadn't happened before, but I knew what it was. All I've been doing by searching for you all these years is hurting you. And it was killing me.

What I'm trying to say is that I wasn't looking for you the night we met. I'd given up. But you are my soulmate, and you're wearing the face of the man I loved and lost a thousand times over. I had to approach you, to try my luck one last time, and when I tasted your blood and realised that you must be sick, I needed to find out if you were going to be okay. You have to understand, it's in my DNA to care about you. I didn't mean for it to go any further, but everything that happened after that was real. I'm not in love with the man you were in a past life, or the man I want you to be - I'm in love with you.

Which is why I'm leaving. I seem to remember that England is nice at this time of year, so I'm going to try my luck there for a while. My dad likes it here, and he's going to stay behind for as long as he can, so if you need anything he'll be there. But I won't bother you again, in this life or any of the next. You deserve better than a vampire creep who only hurts and betrays you.

I'm truly sorry for everything.

Yours always,

Stiles Stilinski

Derek reads the letter several times over, and when the last paragraph finally sinks in, he tosses it to the side, yanks his shoes on and grabs his keys. "I swear to God if he's left already," he mutters to himself as he stomps out to the car.

"Go get him, tiger," Laura calls absently from the living room where she's glued to an episode of _Tattoo Nightmares._ "Oh my God why would you get _that_ tattooed on your ass?"

He doesn't make it to the car.

* * *

Stiles is loading the last of his stuff into the back of the jeep when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He pauses to fish it out and check the message, his face lighting up seconds after the screen does. "It's Derek!" he tells his father, who is hovering nearby. When he opens the message, however, his blood turns to ice. "Oh my god."

”What?" the sheriff demands. "Stiles, what's he saying?"

Stiles hands the phone over with shaking fingers. "They have him," he says weakly. "Hunters. They have him. They're going to kill him."

On the phone there's a picture of Derek, bound and gagged. A message is attached: **One hour. Give yourself up or he dies.** An address is included, and the sheriff swears. "You're not giving yourself up for slaughter," he orders. "We'll find another way."

"I have to go," Stiles says. "I can't leave him there to die!"

"That's not what I'm saying," the sheriff snaps, grabbing his son by the shoulders and giving him a shake. "I'm saying, let's get him out."

"Okay," Stiles says, his breathing shallow. "How?"

"They're willing to kill an innocent human now, they've done it before," the sheriff reasons. "And I don't mind fudging police records if it's to save an innocent. So we are going to go in there, kill them all, and free him. Violent, but I doubt we'll have any other choice."

Stiles nods, and when he grins it's a sharp, feral thing. "Then let's go."

* * *

When Derek wakes up it takes him a few moments to place where he is, and then another one to realize that his wrists and ankles are tied together, leaving him bound and helpless. The next thing he becomes aware of is the sounds of fighting mingling with the occasional scream of pain, or a bitten-off choke. Derek waits, terrified and helpless, for his fate to arrive.

Even with the two of them, it takes them nearly half an hour to despatch all of the hunters and for Stiles to reach Derek. When he does, he flies across the room and drops to his knees before the chair Derek is bound to, automatically reaching up to touch Derek's hair where it's red and matted. It looks pretty bad, and Stiles starts working on the ropes. "God, Derek, we're gonna get you out of here, okay? Just keep looking at me."

Derek's brow furrows, and it takes him a second to comprehend that Stiles is actually there. "You're not leaving," he announces, swaying towards the vampire. 

"Easy," Stiles says, pushing Derek gently back into the chair. "I'm right here, okay? You're gonna be fine. _Dad_!"

Derek shakes his head, vision swimming as he does so. "No, you're not leaving me," he mumbles, not looking up as the sheriff arrives.

Head wound, loss of blood, nothing serious if we get him to a hospital now," the sheriff decides. "Let's go."

Stiles helps the sheriff get Derek to the car and then sits with him on the way to the hospital, where he's taken away from Stiles and rushed into a room with doors that are barred to both Stiles and his father. Stiles is shaking like a leaf, fear and adrenaline and god only knows what else coursing through him, but he won't sit down to wait like any rational person. He should be on a plane by now, but in a moment of sheer determination to do _something_ he'd managed to swap his seat for one on a flight tomorrow evening and now all he can do is pace back and forth in front of his father, who is seated patiently like the placid asshole he is in the waiting room.

"Why are they taking so long?" Stiles asks for the umpteenth time. "Why won't they tell us anything? You said he'd be okay, Dad, he has to be okay, I can't--"

Stiles is interrupted by a nurse opening the doors to a nearby hall. "Pardon me, but Derek Hale is asking for a Stiles. Is he here?"

Stiles almost falls over himself in his haste to reach the nurse. "Yes, he's here, that's me. Please can I see him?"

The nurse nods, opening the door for Stiles. "He's come out of the anesthesia, and is currently on a light sedative to keep him quiet. Try not to get him too excited." With that, she opens the door to one of the rooms, revealing Derek on a hospital bed.

Heeding the nurse's words, Stiles enters the room slowly, almost hesitantly. Derek looks like shit, groggy and pale with a big white dressing on the side of his head, but he's the most beautiful thing Stiles has ever seen. "Hey," he says softly, trying for a smile as he sinks into the chair beside Derek's bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Ugh," Derek groans, rolling his head to see Stiles better. "Like shit."

Stiles hums. "It got pretty intense back there," he says. "What do you remember?"

Derek frowns, thinking. "You sent me a letter," he says after a moment. "You were going to leave. I went to go tell you not to, and someone hit me. Then I woke up tied up, and you and your dad showed up." His eyes widen. "Shit, Laura's gonna kill me for crashing the Camaro."

Stiles nods. "They sent me a text from your phone, a photo of you and an address. So we came to get you back."

Derek smiles gratefully. "Thank you." There's silence for a moment, then he asks, "Are you still leaving?"

Stiles sighs. "I changed my flight to tomorrow."

"Oh." Derek's voice is small, and he swallows heavily. "Nothing I can do to change your mind?"

Stiles closes his eyes. "You read the letter, right?" he asks. "All I've ever done is hurt you. Tonight was my fault, Derek, the people who took you were hunters looking to get to me."

"And if I said I didn't want you to go?" Derek challenges.

"You don't know what you want," Stiles answers, though it kills him to do so. "I didn't write that letter to jolt you into action and make you chase after me. Me leaving is for the best."

"I'm not letting you go," Derek says stubbornly.

Stiles smiles at that. "You don't have a choice," he says gently.

"Stiles, I swear to God I will hunt you down just to kill you myself if you leave," Derek says, a desperate edge creeping into his voice. "I love you; don't go. Please."

Stiles gets to his feet, and he isn't sure if it's strength or stupidity that makes him say his next words. "I love you too," he whispers. "And that's why I have to go. Take care of yourself, Derek." He leaves before he can change his mind.

"Wait, no! _Stiles_!"

Stiles walks straight out of the hospital without looking back, his heart breaking a little more with each step.

* * *

Three months later and Stiles is in Liverpool. He hadn't meant to stay in England so long, had fully intended to bounce from country to country for as long as it took for Derek to forget about him, but he's kind of fallen in love with this city and he can't quite bring himself to leave yet. He has a little flat facing the waterfront, practically hemorrhaging money to keep up with the rent but it's worth it to stand on his balcony every morning and watch the boats bob up and down in the morning sun. There's something very calming about it all.

The nightlife is also fantastic. Living right in the middle of the city centre means that the best clubs and bars are within arm's reach, and the city itself is so big that he never meets the same person twice. He can feed whenever he wants without fear of being caught, and given how readily the locals flock to him as soon as he opens his mouth he could probably hook up with the same ease. He doesn't, though; he can't bring himself to spend any more time with a person than it takes to drink his fill, and even then he can't help but close his eyes and wish for the taste of anemia.

It's making him twitchy, being in one place for so long. The habit of searching for Derek's soul is a hard one to kick, and the need to keep moving in the hope of moving _on_ is strong. But he should be safe here, at least for now. He changes his name and his story every night; he's financially comfortable enough not to work; what few antiques he brought from America have been anonymously donated to the various museums crowding the Albert Dock, all but one; and the only person on the planet who knows where he is is his father. The sheriff won't betray him again, he's certain.

So when someone rings his doorbell and he buzzes them up one Thursday evening, the last thing he expects is to find Derek Hale on his doorstep. "You're not the takeout guy," he says dumbly, and then slams the door in his face.

Honestly, Derek was expecting a reaction like this. "Stiles!" he shouts, banging his fist on the door. "Open up!"

"Go away!" Stiles shouts back.

"No! It took me forever to convince your dad to tell me where you were, and I'm not letting you get away, Stiles," Derek calls. "I will pick the locks, I swear to God."

Stiles sighs. Next time he does a runner, he won't even tell his dad where he is. "I don't want to see you," he tries. "I moved to a different continent to get away from you!"

"You and I have unfinished business, Stiles," Derek retorts. "I don't like leaving things unfinished. If you'd rather, I could just shout everything for all the neighbors to hear."

Stiles grits his teeth, but he knows Derek's right. He opens the door and steps back. "You have ten minutes," he says, "and then you have to go."

"You're a dick," Derek starts off with. "I didn't think you wrote that letter to goad me into chasing after you-- I was already going to do that, I was just trying to swallow my pride. And walking off like that in the hospital was a shit move; the nurses had to fully sedate me again to keep me from tearing out the IVs and running after you, so thanks for that. But I'm here because for once it's my turn to chase you; I choose you, Stiles. I want you, and if you'd just fucking _stayed and listened_ , you'd have known that. The whole soulmate thing threw me for a loop, and I overreacted; I'm sorry for that. I felt betrayed and lied to, because you kept something that big from me. But you were right; whatever this is between us isn't because of that. I love you because you're _you_. And if you want to take off again, I'll still chase you. Hell, I'll blow every penny I’ve got tracking you down if I have to, because you've been chasing me for almost two thousand years, and I've never returned the gesture. So, this is me, choosing you. I'm yours, if you want me."

There are tears in Stiles' eyes by the time Derek finishes, but he refuses to let them fall. "Of course I want you," he says. "You think it was easy to walk away, to stay away all this time? I love you so much, I just-- I wanted to protect you."

"I know," Derek says, voice quiet. "But you walking away hurt worse than anything those hunters could have done."

Stiles can see the truth of those words etched into Derek's face, and not for the first the bitter taste of regret rises up in the back of his throat. "Let me make it up to you," he begs.

"Just don't leave me again, okay?" Derek asks, stepping forward to take one of Stiles's hands in his. "Not without giving me a say. I love you."

"I love you," Stiles returns, pulling Derek into his arms. "I love you."

Derek goes happily. "I love you, too," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around Stiles. 

* * *

They do spend a week sightseeing in England, but eventually they both return to the United States; Derek's sisters berate him for just up and leaving, and they both have a few choice words about Derek chasing after the guy who left him in a hospital bed. Derek just tells them both that Stiles is his soulmate; they think he's just being a ridiculous romantic, even though Derek knows it to be true.

He and Stiles spend as much time together as possible; Derek hated being away from Stiles the past few months, and wanted to make up for it. They’re sitting on the couch at Stiles's house when Derek finally voices something he's been thinking of for a while now. "I want you to bite me."

Stiles laughs. "We've talked about this," he says. "You taste disgusting."

”Not like that," Derek says, shoving at Stiles before sobering. "I mean, I want you to _bite_ me."

"Like, in a kinky way?" Stiles asks.

Derek rolls his eyes. "I want you to turn me," he clarifies.

Stiles' eyes widen. "You-- Really?"

Derek nods. "I've thought about it, and I don't want to leave you ever again-- and I don't want you to be left alone. I want you to turn me."

"But... your family," Stiles says weakly.

Derek worried his lower lip. "They know how much you mean to me," he says finally. "It might be best if we tell them, but that's up to you. I just know that I want to be with you, forever."

"You said that you don't want to leave me alone," Stiles says, "but have you thought about being left alone yourself? Your sisters will grow old and die and you won't have aged a day."

"I know," Derek answers. "I've thought about this a lot, Stiles."

"And you're sure?" Stiles presses. "We can't go back from this once it's done."

"I'm sure," Derek insists, nervous but determined. "I want this, Stiles."

There's a moment's pause in which Stiles searches Derek's face, but he must find whatever he's looking for because he breaks out into a big grin. "Then yes," he says. "I'll do it."

Derek grins back, leaning in for a kiss. "Not right now," he says. "I'm pretty sure we should take the time to set this up right."

"It can be pretty intense," Stiles agrees. "You have to die."

Derek blinks. "You never mentioned that part."

Stiles gives him a pointed look. "We're called the un _dead_?"

"Huh. Suppose I should have made that connection sooner," Derek muses. "Still, maybe we could set it up for this weekend?"

Stiles blows out a breath. "If you're one hundred percent positive."

"I am," Derek says firmly.

"The weekend, then," Stiles says, smiling.

"The weekend," Derek agrees.

* * *

Derek tells his sisters he'd be gone for the weekend, spending it with Stiles; they tease him for spending so much time with the other man, but honestly he can see that they were happy for him. He's a bit nervous, but excited. He wants to spend the rest of his life with Stiles; it'll be hard, leaving his family as they'll inevitably have to, but he doesn't want to lose Stiles.

He arrives at the Stilinski household a little earlier than they agreed on, but Stiles is already there. "Hey," he says, entering and dropping his bag by the door. "You ready for this?"

"More than ready," Stiles says, smiling. "Are you?"

"I am," Derek says without hesitation. "Where are we doing it?"

"I figured the bedroom?" Stiles suggests.

Derek nods, following Stiles up the stairs. "We going to do it now?"

"If you want to," Stiles says. "If you'd rather wait, work yourself up to it, we can."

Derek thinks about it for a moment. "Let's go ahead and do it now," he decides.

"Okay," Stiles says, gesturing toward the bed. "Get yourself comfortable, I guess."

Derek does so, shifting around on the bed until he feels that he's as comfortable as he's going to get. "So, what exactly do you have to do?"

"I have to bite you again," Stiles explains gently as he joins Derek on the bed. "And then I cut myself, and you have to drink from me."

"Huh. Well, here's hoping you taste better than I do," Derek teases.

Stiles smiles. "I will," he promises.

Derek takes a deep breath, letting himself settle back into the cushions. "Well, let's do this."

Stiles follows him down and gives him a long, deep kiss. "Last chance to back out," he whispers.

"I'm not going to take it," Derek murmurs back. "I'm in this, all the way."

Stiles smiles, and kisses his way along Derek's jaw and down his throat. "I love you," he breathes, and bites.

Derek's back arches off the bed and his jaw drops open, a breathless gasp escaping; holy _shit_ that feels good. He barely registers Stiles pulling back for a moment before offering Derek his slit wrist; Derek reacts off instinct, latching on to where the blood is welling up and sucking.

It feels almost as good for Stiles as it did for Derek, and he gets caught for a moment in the sheet ecstasy of it all. He can't let Derek drink him dry, however, and eventually he claws himself back to reality long enough to rip his wrist from Derek's mouth and ease him into his arms instead. "You did so well," he whispers when Derek starts to thrash. "But this part's going to hurt."

* * *

It's a long and painful process, turning into a vampire. First the body is forcibly shut down, each organ failing one after the other until finally the heart stops beating. Then cells begin to mutate, so as to reanimate the corpse body and make sure that this new form of life can be sustained by blood instead of normal food. Stiles isn't entirely clear on the science of it all, although he probably should be. He feels like he should be able to explain why Derek has to go through such unbearable agony just to become a walking corpse. It's more complex than that, obviously - vampires aren't dead, precisely, they just operate differently to humans, but that's still the essence of it. The human has to die in order for the vampire to be born, and that vampire will have to feed on the lifeblood of other humans to stay alive itself. It's weird.

It's also not important just now. Stiles held Derek while he writhed and screamed and didn't let go even when Derek fell still all of a sudden and didn't move so much as a muscle for long, daunting hours. For a moment there Stiles had worried that maybe Derek's body would reject the bite after all, but then he felt a change in Derek's skin. Not the heat of life, not exactly, but no longer the stone cold of death. Then it was just a case of waiting for Derek to wake up, which is what seems to be happening right now.

Muscles tense and shift beneath Stiles' hands, and Stiles snaps his eyes open from where he's been dozing lightly for the last hour, immediately alert. "Derek? Can you hear me?"

Derek groans; his every muscle feels like he's been run over by a tractor trailer which then backed over him and then ran over him again. When he finally manages to crack one eye open, the first thing he sees is that it's starting to become light out. The second is Stiles's hand on his shoulder, and he reaches up to take it in one of his. "Did it work?" he croaks. 

"It worked," Stiles says softly. "How do you feel?"

"Tired," Derek mutters. "And thirsty."

"There's some blood downstairs," Stiles offers. "You'll need fresh soon, but it should be enough to tide you over until you're ready."

The mention of fresh blood sends a sharp ache through Derek's throat, and he coughs. "Yeah, okay," he agrees. "Let's go suck down some blood."

But Stiles lays a hand on Derek's chest. "I'll get it," he says. "You've been through a lot. Do you want it warm?"

Derek makes a face. "Um. I guess?" Warm blood sounds oddly appetizing, but at the same time disgusting.

Stiles laughs. "Trust me," he says, and leaves the room.

Derek does trust Stiles, which is why he stays on the bed, waiting for Stiles to come back with the blood. When Stiles returns, Derek gives the cup in his hand a doubtful look. "What, no biting the bag?"

"Just because you're a vampire doesn't mean you can't eat like a civilised person," Stiles says tartly. "I can get you a straw, if you'd like."

Derek rolls his eyes. "Just gimme the cup," he says.

Stiles obliges. "It's hot," he warns.

Derek's careful with the cup; as he brings it to his mouth, he's hit with the smell of blood-- but it doesn't make him sick. Rather, he feels thirstier than ever, and after blowing hastily on the liquid, he gulps it down. It tastes... delicious. It's thick and rich, and tastes similar to a raw steak. "Holy shit that's good," Derek gasps when he's drained the cup. 

Stiles smirks. "I told you."

"Yes, you did," Derek agrees, licking his lips. 

"Well, there's more in the kitchen," Stiles says, perching on the edge of the bed. "We should probably wait a few days before trying you out and about, though."

"Like to try to drink from someone?" Derek asks for clarification.

"Yes, that."

"Right," Derek says, thinking about it. "That... sounds like it could go very badly."

"Exactly," Stiles says. "We're going to need to work on your control around humans before we even think about going that far. And one of the best ways to do that, actually, is to be around family."

"So I'll need to go back home?" Derek guesses. "That reminds me, we never decided if we were going to tell them about you-- us, now, I guess."

Stiles winces. "You said you had everything figured out."

"I said I'd thought about it," Derek corrects. "And I was-- am-- okay if we don't tell them. We've still got a while before the whole not-aging thing gets suspicious."

Stiles sighs. "You should do whatever's best for you and your family."

"Well that's helpful," Derek mutters; he takes a moment to think about it, however. "I think we should tell them."

"Then we'll tell them," Stiles says.

* * *

When Derek and Stiles show up at Derek's place the next day, Laura and Cora are in the living room locked in a battle of life or death over the television remote; Laura is adamant that she is not going to watch another episode of /Hoarders/, and Cora's refusing to peacefully give up the remote.

"Cora, I swear to God I will lock you out if the bathroom for the rest of the day if you don't give me the remote," Laura growled. "You've been watching this damn show all day now _give it!_ "

"Are we interrupting something?" Stiles asks, smirking, when he wanders into the living room with Derek at his side. Despite the fact that he's looking at the sisters, all of his attention is on Derek; it'll be easier for him to control himself around his family, but that doesn't mean it'll be easy.

Cora takes the distraction as an opportunity to kick Laura away and gets off the floor. "Hey guys. What's up?"

Laura makes a gesture like she wants to strangle Cora, but lets the youngest Hale get away for the moment. "You two look like you're dying to say something," she says after a moment's scrutiny.

"If you two can quit fighting over the remote and sit like normal people, we'll tell you," Derek bargains.

Cora sighs heavily but she's smiling when she flops down onto the sofa, pulling Laura down with her. "We're all ears," she promises.

Derek shoots Stiles a nervous glance before he settles onto one of the cushions of the loveseat, across from his sisters. "So, um." Dammit, he should have planned this out better. "Remember when I told you that Stiles is my soulmate?"

Laura grins. "Yeah, of course; not every day you say something that sappy."

Derek takes a deep breath before continuing with, "It's God's honest truth-- soulmates are real."

Cora snorts. "If this is your way of telling us that you're getting married, you can cut the bullshit. Just say it."

Stiles takes the seat beside Derek and slides a hand over his knee. "That's not what we're saying," he says. "It's true. I've been colliding with past reincarnations of Derek for centuries."

That catches Laura's attention, and she stiffens. "Centuries?" she demands.

Derek nods. "We-- Stiles and whoever I was then-- first met in Pompeii, shortly before Vesuvius erupted," he explains. "Stiles has a journal detailing each encounter."

"You've just tripped yourself up," Cora accuses. "You mean whoever you _and_ Stiles were back then. Stiles can't have been chasing past-you for centuries himself."

"He can, and has," Derek says, stomach twisting. "Stiles is immortal."

Cora gives them both a flat look. "Have you guys been smoking something? And can I have some?"

Derek sighs, glances around, and grabs a letter opener off of the coffee table. He hands it to Stiles. "Show them what you showed me."

Stiles takes the letter opener, but glances at Derek. "Are you sure?"

Derek gestures to his sisters. "They're not going to believe us until you do."

Stiles sighs and scoots forward until he's on the edge of the seat, one hand outstretched toward the girls. Just as he had with Derek and the keys, he uses the letter opener to slice into his palm. Cora recoils, gripping Laura's arm, but he thrusts his hand into their faces as it heals all the same.

There's a moment of stunned silence, and then Cora demands, "What the _fuck_?"

Laura echoes the sentiment, looking at Derek for an explanation. "Stiles is a vampire," he provides. "He heals super fast, and is immortal." He hesitates before adding, "And I am too, now."

"You're a what?" Cora snarls. She turns to Stiles. "What did you do to him?"

Stiles slides right back into his seat. "Nothing he didn't ask for."

"He's right," Derek hastens to say.

"Why would you do that?" Laura demands. "What's in it for you?"

Derek sighs. "Stiles has been chasing me for two thousand years, Laur," he says gently. "It's about damn time I choose him, too. And I do. I love him."

"So you gave up your life to become a monster, _forever_?" Cora spits. "You've known him all of five minutes, Derek. You can't know that you love him that much, or even that he loves you. You say that he's been chasing you for two thousand years, but has he? Or has he just been chasing who you used to be?"

Derek squares his shoulders defiantly. "You think I didn't ask him the exact same thing, didn't have the exact same doubts?" He growls. His gums itch oddly, but he forces himself to ignore it for now. "I did. But how long do I have to know him before I can be certain I love him? Or that he loves me?"

Cora scoffs. "Laura, are you buying this?"

Laura chews on her lower lip. "You have to agree that super-fast healing is weird," she hedges. 

"Drugs?" Cora suggests.

Stiles snorts indelicately. "Please."

Derek sighs. "Cora, I wouldn't lie to you about something like this," he says quietly, but firmly. "Something this big? After-- After Kate, you know I don't keep things from you-- both of you-- if I can help it."

Stiles fights the urge to look at Derek, to show the surprise and confusion he's feeling, and instead watches Cora. Her own expression melts almost immediately to one of sympathy and understanding. "Of course," she says. "Of course we know that. But this, Derek? You have to know how crazy this sounds."

"I know-- believe me, I know." Derek laughs, a little self-deprecating. "That month where you didn't see Stiles at all? Where I didn't? That was right after I learned about the soulmate thing. At least the vampire thing came with tangible proof."

"You were horrible to live with," Laura agrees, her expression thoughtful. "You're really not shitting us then?"

"Definitely not," Stiles says.

Cora exchanges a look with Laura, and sits forward. "Why didn't you tell us sooner?" she asks.

Derek bites his lower lip for a moment, thinking, before he answers. "I didn't know how you two would react," he admits. "And it didn't exactly... affect anything until recently. I love him, and I don't want him to spend God-knows-how-many years searching for me again. So I asked him for the bite, for him to turn me."

"So you're a vampire now, too? Jesus, what is this, _Twilight?_ "

Derek laughs. "Yes, I'm a vampire, but no, I'd like to think our relationship is a bit more healthy than Edward and Bella's."

"Except for the part where he's a crazy stalker," Cora points out.

"It's--" Derek looks to Stiles, appealing for help.

"Complicated," Stiles finishes. "I loved the first incarnation of Derek that I met, but I haven't loved many others since. I'm not just chasing someone who doesn't exist; I wasn't even looking anymore when I found him. I love Derek for who he is."

"Apparently I've had a lot of other bodies and personalities," Derek continues. "I actually found a picture that is Stiles and a man who looked almost exactly like me-- that sparked the whole 'soulmates are real' conversation."

"And you're sure he's not just using you as a replacement for this thousand-year-old ex-boyfriend?" Cora asks.

"Uh, two thousand," Stiles corrects.

Cora doesn't look away from Derek. "Not talking to you."

"I'm sure," Derek says without hesitation. "I wouldn't still be with him if I wasn't."

Laura, compared to her sister, is staring intently at Stiles. "What was the first one like?"

Stiles smiles. "Incredible," he says. "Beautiful. He looked a lot like Derek, but that's where the similarity ends. We were together for almost a year before he died."

Laura tilts her head. "Vesuvius, I'm guessing? But that's not what I'm after: These people who looked like _our_ Derek, were they anything like him in personality?"

Stiles glances at Derek. "They... We gelled," he says slowly. "Every one of them, we got closer to what I was looking for than I did with any of the people who looked different. But that's it. It's something to do with his soul, and the way it changes during each reincarnation. I don't understand it, really, but it just means that while he looks like this, we're compatible. But like I said, they're only alike in looks."

Laura nods slowly; that makes sense, in a way. "So you love him? _This_ Derek? He's not just a replacement for the first one you lost?"

"No," Stiles says, soft but firm. "He isn't. The one I lost was the first man I'd ever loved. Derek is the last."

Derek reached over to lace his fingers with Stiles's. "I love him, and he loves me," he says, looking to his sisters imploringly. "I made the choice to ask him to turn me of my own free will, because he's been chasing me for over two thousand years, and since that first time, I haven't chosen him. Something's always come up, and I chose that over him-- or whoever my soul was did. This time, I choose him. I love him, and I don't want anything else to separate us."

Cora and Laura share another look, and then Cora sighs. "I guess we can't argue with destiny."

Derek smiles, hopeful. "Then?"

"Okay," Laura answers. "But if you're immortal, then that means you won't age, right?"

"Correct," Stiles says.

"So what are you planning on doing then?"

"I didn't want to just abandon you one day," Derek confesses. "So that's why we told you."

"And what if we want to be vampires too?" Cora asks.

Derek hesitates. "It's not a decision to be made lightly," he cautions, "but it is your choice."

Cora nods. "Fair enough."

"So, you're okay with this?"

"I don't think we have much choice," Cora says. 

"Of course you do," Derek counters. "But I love you both, and your support means a lot."

"It's gonna take a bit of getting used to," Laura agreed. "But keep your shiny new fangs to yourself, and I think we can be fine with it."

Stiles smiles. "That's another part of why we're here," he says. "It'll be easier for Derek to learn to control himself if the first humans he's exposed to are his family."

Derek wrinkles his nose. "No offense, but neither one of you smells very tasty," he agrees.

Laura chucks a pillow at him. "Hey!"

"You don't smell so great yourself," Cora snipes. "Did you start to decay while you were dead?"

Derek rolls his eyes. "I was dead for around eight hours, so..."

"Ew. No, I don't want details," Laura decides.

"So can we stay here?" Stiles asks. "Or, Derek at least."

"Long as you promise not to suck our blood in the middle of the night, sure," Laura answers, grinning, before a thought hits her. "You... haven't, right?"

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Yeah," he says. "Every time I'm over here. It's quicker and easier than McDonald's, and it tastes better, too." He looks at Derek. "Never eat anyone who works in a fast food joint."

Derek smacks Stiles upside the head. "Be nice," he admonishes.

Stiles pulls a face. "I don't drink from people I know," he tells the sisters honestly. "It's always a one-time deal and they don't remember a thing afterwards."

"They don't remember?" Laura asks curiously.

"There's a certain something about us that keeps humans from remembering an initial encounter," Stiles explains. "Unless you're Derek."

"Unless you're the vampire’s soulmate," Derek elaborates.

Stiles smiles. "That one was news to me, but it was a nice surprise."

"Hell of a shock when I found out," Derek chuckles.

"Have you drank human blood yet?" Cora asks him.

"Yeah. Not from a human, but it was still human blood," Derek answers.

"That's disgusting."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "That's life," he says. "Literally. It's no different than eating your steak rare."

"Except that steak is a cow, and you're eating humans."

"But we're not human," Stiles points out. "Not anymore."

"And you kinda have to kill the cow to make steak," Derek adds. "We don't have to kill humans."

Laura makes a face. "That... kinda makes sense. If they don't remember you..."

"Everybody wins," Stiles finishes, grinning. "At the risk of quoting _Twilight_ , we're the perfect predators."

Derek nods. "I didn't remember Stiles biting me, but I remember that it felt really _really_ good. So the 'prey' gets pleasure in exchange for their blood."

Cora makes a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. "Way too much information." Derek laughs.

* * *

The conversation ends quickly after that, Laura and Cora needing some time to digest what they've been told, so Derek takes Stiles upstairs to his study. "That was relatively easy," he says with a small laugh; he sobers when he catches sight of Stiles's contemplative expression. "What's up?"

Stiles shakes his head, and sinks into the closest chair. "You said something downstairs... It's probably none of my business, though."

"If it isn't, then I'll tell you," Derek reassures Stiles. "But you can always ask me things, okay?"

Stiles nods. "I just, I was just curious. You said that you always try to be honest with your sisters, especially after... Kate, was it?"

Derek sighs. "Kate was a relationship that ended horribly," he says. "In the 'was after my family's fortune and when I found out she trapped them in our house and burned it down' way. We didn't even have that much money, just inheritance and some stocks, but she thought we were sitting on a gold mine or something. Ironically, she made me and my sisters millionaires after life insurance was paid."

"Jesus Christ," Stiles breathes. "Derek, I... They _all_ died?"

Derek nods. "Me, Laura, Cora, and my uncle Peter are the only ones left," he answers. "Peter is comatose, and unlikely to ever wake up according to the doctors. Laura, Cora, and I were in class when she struck."

Stiles closes his eyes. "I... 'I'm sorry' doesn't help, I know that. But, fuck. How long ago was this?"

Derek sighs. "Five years, four months, a week and two days ago," he answers. 

Stiles blows out a breath. "What happened to Kate, in the end?"

”She got the death penalty," Derek says. "She confessed to everything on the stand-- she, she fucking _bragged_ about killing as many as she did. Jury had no sympathy and she hadn't cut a deal so she got the death penalty."

Stiles' eyes widen. "Wow."

Derek nods. "I was in a sexual relationship with her," he confesses. "I kept it from my family. That's why I said I wouldn't lie to them, especially not about something this big."

Stiles leans forward, takes Derek's hand. "It wasn't your fault," he says. "You know that, right?"

Derek offers Stiles a grateful smile. "I didn't used to," he admits. "I used to think I was at least partially responsible. But I'm getting over it."

Stiles smiles back, and gives Derek's hand a squeeze. "I love you," he says.

Derek's smile grows. "I love you, too."

* * *

They stay with Derek's sisters for a few weeks, and though Derek comes close to losing control a few times when they inevitably piss him off, he never does. Stiles is immensely proud of him, and after a successful dinner out in public goes off without a hitch, Stiles declares Derek ready for the next stage - feeding directly from a human. "This will be difficult," Stiles warns when they pull up outside of a well-known club. It's just coming up to midnight so the partying is well underway inside, the music pouring out through the open door and the bass pounding in their chests. The sheer volume of people might prove overwhelming for Derek, but the crowd is exactly what they'll need if this goes south; even the amnesia that comes over people following an encounter with a vampire won't help them if they get caught on CCTV. "You've been great around humans before, but you're about to get your mouth on one. It can be easy to get carried away."

Derek nods, focusing on Stiles's hand in his to keep the heartbeats pounding in his ears at bay. "You'll be there, right?"

"The whole time," Stiles promises. "I won't leave your side. And if it looks like you're losing control, I'll get you out of there."

Derek nods again, reassured. "Okay. So, just pick one?" There's so many to choose from, he doesn't know how he’ll be able to only pick one. 

Stiles smiles. "Let's go inside and get a drink first, okay?" he says as he cuts the engine. "If anyone stands out to you, let me know. We'll go from there."

"Okay," Derek agrees, taking a deep breath through the mouth as he opens the door. "Sounds like a plan."

Inside, Stiles buys them both a beer and grabs a seat near to the bar that gives them a good view of the club. "How are you feeling?" he asks, reaching across the table to give Derek's hand a squeeze.

"Little overwhelmed," Derek admits, using the cold bite of the drink against his skin to distract himself. "There's so many sounds and smells."

Stiles nods. "Don't try to ignore it," he advises. "Just go with it. If it's too much, we can leave."

"I think I'm good for now," Derek says after a moment's consideration.

"Okay," Stiles says. "Take it easy for a little while. You've got time."

Derek nods in agreement; he'd drank a glass of blood this morning, enough that while the burn of thirst is just starting to make his throat itch, it’s manageable. "I think her," Derek decides, nodding to a redhead who was passing them. He likes the way she smells. 

Stiles follows his gaze and smirks. "She's hot," he says. "You were a redhead once."

Derek laughs at that. "What was my name?" he asks. 

"Angela, I think," Stiles says with an apologetic look. "There's been a lot of you."

Derek chuckles. "Over two thousand years, I'd imagine so."

Stiles snaps his fingers. "Lydia," he says. "It was Lydia. She was a professional Dominatrix. Angela was a mouse by comparison."

Derek laughs. "Dominatrix, huh?" he asks, grinning. 

"Oh yeah," Stiles laughs. "It was kinda hot, actually."

"Is it weird that I'm jealous of my past self?" Derek muses; just then the redhead he'd noticed earlier walked back by their table, and a spike of thirst hit him. " _Shit_ ," he coughed, hand going to cup his throat.

"Easy," Stiles says. "You go over to her looking like that, you're gonna scare her away. Can you rein it in a little?"

"Trying," Derek grits out, forcing himself to take deep even breaths through his mouth. After several moments, he feels more in control, enough to lift his head and be confident he doesn't look like exactly what he is: a thirsty vampire dying for a drink.

Stiles gives him a sympathetic look. "I know it's hard," he says. "Do you want me to approach her?"

Derek swallows. "Might be best," he agrees. "I think I can control it, but..."

"It's fine," Stiles soothes him. "You're doing great." He gives Derek's hand one last squeeze before getting up and walking over to where the redhead is talking to her friends, and turns his most charming smile on her. "Hi, I'm Stiles. I hope you don't mind me being so forward, but my boyfriend over there thinks you're really cute, and I can't help but agree. Can we buy you a drink?"

The girl is surprised, but she nods, smiling. "I'd like that," she says, pleased. "Does that drink come with names?"

"Like I said, my name is Stiles, and my boyfriend is Derek," Stiles says. "Why don't you come to the bar with me so we can order and then we can all sit down together and have a chat?"

"I'm Mary Lee," she answers. "And that sounds like an amazing plan."

Five minutes later Mary Lee has a ridiculously overpriced cocktail in her hand and Stiles is leading her over to their table, holding eye contact with Derek the whole time. He looks like he's got his shit together, so Stiles doesn't feel too nervous when he let's Mary Lee take the seat opposite Derek. Stiles himself takes the seat closest to Derek, and slides a hand over his thigh beneath the table. "I was just telling Mary Lee here how cute you think she is."

Derek offers her a grin. "I do think you're cute," he agrees.

Mary Lee chuckles. "Well, compliments from such handsome men are always welcome."

"Are you sure you don't mind leaving your friends?" Stiles asks. "We'll try not to keep you long if you want to get back to them."

Mary Lee looks Stiles and Derek over, considering, then a slow smile spreads over her face. "If you boys are thinking the same thing I am, I don't mind waiting a bit to get back to them."

Stiles laughs and squeezes Derek's knee. "Sounds great to me."

* * *

It doesn't take much to convince Mary Lee to follow them out back where there's an unsurveyed alley; the scent of her arousal lies thick on Derek's tongue, and he has to force himself to take deep, even breaths. When they reach the alley, Derek looks to Stiles, waiting for his instructions.

Stiles smiles and crowds in close behind Derek. "Just start slow," he says quietly. "Do what feels natural. I'm right here."

"You like to take orders, Derek?" Mary Lee asks, looping her arms around Derek's neck and smiling. "That's hot."

Derek chuckles, leaning in to brush a trail of kisses down the redhead's jaw, finding the pulse of her jugular under the skin and sealing his lips over that spot, sucking lightly to bring the blood rushing to the surface and draw the vein closer. He can feel his gums itching, canines trying to drop, and for once he doesn't fight it, letting the changes come until he could pierce the skin, the blood rushing into his mouth.

Mary Lee has tilted her head back, a haze of arousal and pleasure settling over her; she doesn't fully realize that she's been wounded, too hopped up on the endorphins flooding her system as Derek drinks. Derek drinks deeply-- almost too deeply; he doesn't want to give up this taste, this wonderful feeling that comes from drinking fresh blood.

Stiles lets it go on for as long as he dares, and then he lays a hand on Derek's shoulder. "Come on," he says. "That's enough."

Derek growls, low in the back of his throat. This is _his_ prey, what is this-- Then Stiles's voice registers, and Derek jerks back, gasping for air. Mary Lee has a blissed-out look on her face, and her heartbeat is slow, but steady, and gradually recovering. "Shit," Derek breathes. "I didn't expect it to be that good."

"Take it easy," Stiles says, gently pushing Derek out of the way so that he can press a hand to the wound on Mary Lee's neck. "Go walk it off."

Part of Derek doesn't want to listen, wants to fight Stiles to keep drinking, but the rational part wins out, and he paces off down the alley, counting his steps under his breath to focus on something else.

Mary Lee's head lolls to the side, and she gives Stiles a dopey grin. "I feel fucking amazing."

Stiles gives her a wan smile. "I bet," he says. The wound is already closing beneath his touch so he pulls his hand away and licks his fingers. "Maybe take a trip to the bathroom and clean up some before you go back to your friends."

Mary Lee nods agreeably, taking a test step-- she's a little wobbly, but she _did_ have a good bit of alcohol; she's just tipsy. She wanders off in the direction of the club, her memories of exactly what happened and who she was with fading with each step.

Derek comes back to Stiles's side, watching as she enters the club; he blows a breath and says, "That was really intense."

Stiles wraps an arm around his shoulders and gives him a squeeze. "You did good," he says. "I'm proud of you."

Derek smiles, pleased. "Thanks. Can we go home now?"

"Yeah," Stiles says. "Come on."


End file.
